That and a Bullet
by Ezra Scarlet
Summary: "Now," Dean said, after he was sure that Sam was asleep, "I'm going to make this simple." The gun still cocked in John's direction proved it was anything but. -WARNING: Child abuse, some offensive language-


A/N Just a little bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. I don't actually believe that John was frequently abusive (Occasionally though, a definite) but if he was, I know that Dean would have done anything he could to keep Sam safe. I might do a sequel where Sam finds out or something. I dunno, just depends on how much you guys like it. Also, some of the lines aren't exactly right, but there close enough. Please excuse this.

Notes: Slanted text means it is either an inner thought, memory, or there is emphasis on that word.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, some language.

-See profile for disclaimer.

0o0

"We were pretty lucky to have Dad."

Dean cast a surprised glance in Sam's direction over the roof of the Impala. A soft smile spread out across his face.

"Huh. I never thought I'd hear you say that."

But Sam's next words nearly erased the smile from Dean's face.

"Yeah, well. A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting, and we could've ended up with Max's childhood."

His previous soft smile froze in place.

0o0

_Dean found the solution to his problem in the barrel of a gun._

_Dad had come home one day, drunk off his mind. Dean, at the time, was fully prepared to take whatever beating his father had prepared. He had already hardened himself against such things. For ten years he had protected Sammy from the truth. Sam may be a smart kid, but Dean was an awesome liar, his poker face rivaling a professional._

_"What happened to your eye, Dean?"_

_"Nothing Sammy, just got in a fight."_

_And around and around and around, in an endless loop of lies. He kept Sammy locked safely away in his room, away from the violence. And so, while Sam slept on peacefully, Dean did a deadly dance with his fathers anger. _

_But tonight, it would seem that John was tired of battering Dean around. He wanted a new target. A fresher one. One who would scream and writhe like Dean used to. So instead of immediately battering into his oldest son the moment he entered the room, he made his way towards the locked door in the far right corner._

_Before Dean could even register what was happening, John was pounding his gargantuan fists against the locked door. Dean remembers his father screaming at Sam through the door, and Sam answering back in a frightened whimper. He remembers trying to pull his father away, telling Sam to go back to bed, and being shoved out of the way. Dean remembers feeling helpless and scared hearing his little brothers frightened whimpers through the thin walls. _

_And then he remembers catching sight of the handle of a gun peeking almost mercifully from the waistband of John's pants. _

_Dean doesn't give himself to think. Without quite remembering how, he's already snatched the gun from it's previous placement, has the safety off, and is cocking it at his father. _

_"Turn around, slowly."_

_John had frozen the moment he felt himself being relieved of the comforting weight in the back of his jeans. The chilly voice that came soon after only proved to shock him more. In a slow turn, John came face to face with his son, who's eye's were unbearable cold. John didn't bother trying to rationalize with his son, try to convince him to drop the gun. John could see it in his eyes._

_If John so much as blinked in a threatening manner, Dean was going to put a bullet through his head._

_John briefly regretted the lessons in shooting he had given to Dean, but couldn't help be proud of the cold fury that burned in his eyes. Not taking his eye's off of John, Dean said;_

_"Sam, go back to bed. No matter what you hear, don't come out, you hear me? Go."_

_Sam may or may not have opened his mouth to argue, but sooner or later they both heard the answering sound of Sam climbing back into bed. His soft snores followed soon after._

_"Now," Dean said, after he was sure that Sam was asleep, "I'm going to make this simple." The gun still cocked in John's direction proved it was anything but._

_"If you ever so much as think of causing me or Sammy harm ever again, I put a bullet right between your eyes. Do you understand me?"_

_A snarl bubbled from Johns mouth, his face twisting viciously. When John made to attack him, Dean shot a bullet in his thigh, the sound muffled from a makeshift silencer that Dean had attached (but when did he attach it? He can't remember, why can't he remember?)_

_After that, John may or may not have groaned in pain or thrown angry curses at his oldest son. However, John never touched them again. Sometimes, he looked like he might, but one warning glare from Dean had John reeling back. John didn't doubt for a second that Dean would end him. After that thought, John even started to behave (in a poor, John Winchester way) like a father. He cared for Sam, looked after him, and tried to cross the distance that had built between them._

_But Dean never trusted his father again. He took orders from the man and was a good little soldier. He did what his father wanted him to, and shot when pointed. But anytime John and Sam got into one of their arguments, Dean was always in the corner, eyes watching. Something was broken between John and Dean. Sam and his father had a chance of being a family again, Sam never having found out about those first, torturous years. But Johns chance had all but sailed away with Dean._

_In the end, all it took to convince John to back off was his oldest son's cold, murderous eyes._

_Well, that and a bullet._

0o0

"Yeah," Dean whispered, casting his eyes downward.

"Lucky us."


End file.
